Why
by P. Franz
Summary: Carly is faced with something she never thought would happen. Dark themes. CarlyxSam love forever transcends the limits of mortality.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I'm back! How long's it been? Over a year, I think. Here's a story that isn't one of my normal CAM fics. I got the inspiration for this fic a few hours ago. I was chewing on it, not really sure if I should write it or not, but then I found this song. "Why" by Rascal Flatts. I **_**highly**_** recommend downloading that song and listening to it while reading this.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, trust me. Except the idea for this fic.**

I knelt down beside the shiny, perfectly placed casket. The brilliant grey-blue tint of the steel was identical to the once lively blue eyes it sheltered. A cool breeze swept the dark brown hair from my shoulders and swirled around me, sending me a silent message that I knew only I could interpret as such. You were still with me, weren't you? You told me you would be, no matter what happened. Somehow, I thought to myself as tears poured down my face, you saw this coming way before it happened.

_You must've been in a place so dark, you couldn't feel the light reaching for you through that stormy cloud. Now here we all are gathered, in our little home town. This can't be the way you meant to draw a crowd._

"Why?" I whispered under my breath. Why did this have to happen? Why did we have to end up here in this old cemetery like this? We played here as kids, as sadistic as I found it to be, but I never dreamed I'd be coming back here years later alone...without you...for something like this. You said you'd always stay right by my side, and here you are. Except this time _I'm _by _your_ side and I'm crying uncontrollably and you can't comfort me. You can't hold me and run your small, rough fingers through my hair and promise me that everything will be okay. Because it won't be, not this time. My life has been turned upside down and I have no idea how to start picking it back up again. I'm staring down at the one person that meant the most to me; she's lying in a padded, metal coffin about to be put six feet into the ground because life, everything and everyone in it, just wasn't good enough for her anymore.

_"Why?" That's what I keep askin'. Was there anything I could have said or done? I had no clue you were masking a troubled soul. God only knows what went wrong and why you would leave the stage in the middle of a song._

Should I be upset? Should I scream at her lifeless body about how selfish she was for doing this, and how much she hurt everyone that cared for her? There was no point. It was just so unlike her. She was the type to push though her problems and persevere in the end, not give up and clock out. Not like this. This is all wrong. This had to be some kind of sick joke. She wasn't in that casket, she wasn't...dead. The headstrong, confident, tough, blonde-headed girl that had always been my unbreakable rock was not the same person that the medics couldn't revive, that the news paper posted an obituary about, that I stared at earlier in the funeral home while the un moving body in front of me, through closed eyelids, stared back and reminded me that anything is possible. That sometimes it's just not worth it; sometimes things become too unbearable and you feel you have no other choice but to get away. But it _was_ her, and she _took_ her opportunity to get away from here. She went away on a permanent vacation and didn't invite me. Didn't even tell me or hint to me that she was going. I wondered to myself what could have been so bad that _this_ was the end result. I wondered if there was anything I could have done to prevent this. Why didn't she let me in? Why didn't she let me help her? Surely she knew that I would have done whatever it took, I would have sacrificed anything to bring her happiness, even my own.

It still feels like she's here; like she's standing beside me while I gaze upon her final resting place with tears still freely flowing from my chocolate brown eyes. Eyes that could never again gaze into her perfect blue pools. I can almost feel her hand on my shoulder, her blonde locks brushing against my face, the smell of her Dove body wash flooding my nose and making my heart drop down to my feet. My chest was tight and burning as I stood up and said my silent final goodbyes. As I touched my fingers to the cold steel, I imagined her voice in my head. I would never hear it again. Why? Because her life was too overwhelming; because she was too prideful, too afraid to ask for help; because, in the end, nothing was worth enough for her to stick around.

A hand rested itself on my shoulder and for a split second I imagined it to be her. I spun around to find Spencer, face streaked with tears much like I knew mine was.

_Oh, why? There's no comprehending. And who am I to try to judge or explain? Oh, but I do have one burning question. Who told you life wasn't worth the fight? They were wrong. They lied, and now you're gone and we cried. It's just not like you to walk away in the middle of a song._

"Come on, kiddo. Let's go home." He pulled me into a tight hug that I was too burnt out to resist. Instead, I collapsed into him and wrapped my arms tightly around him and let my tears fall. My fingers curled in, taking in fistfuls of his shirt. I was nearing hyperventilation, I could feel it, but I didn't care. All that mattered to me at that moment was that you were gone. You weren't mine anymore.

"Why? Why, Spencer? Why did this happen?" I beat my fists into his back.

"I don't know," His voice was broken as he released me from the hug and grabbed my shoulders, "but everything will be okay. I'm here for you if you need me. You know that." I looked up at him, hoping that he could somehow help me start the closure process. I just wanted to skip to the end of all of this; to the part where things really _were_ okay, and normalcy would begin to set into my shattered life.

_"It's okay to cry, Carls, regardless of what anyone tells you. Always know that I'll still be here. I'll still be by your side, just like I promised I would be. This isn't your fault, it isn't anyone's fault but my own. I chickened out; I gave up on life. But I didn't give up on you. I'll never give up on you. I'll miss you, Cupcake. Don't ever forget that I love you."_

**Wow. I've been on hiatus for so long. It's nice to finally be back! I brought a nice tear jerker with me, too. Hope you guys liked it. I teared up just writing it, so I hope at least one of you had that reaction as well. I'm **_**probably **_**going to turn this into an entire multi-chapter story, but I don't know when or if I'll have time to write any more on it. We'll see.**

**Please review! Love you guys and thanks for sticking with me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I lied. I wrote another chapter, and I'm really emotionally invested in this story now, so I'm going to continue it. I realized the other day that, even after almost 2 years, I'm still not over my grandfather's death. I was watching "The Big C", a show on Showtime about a woman diagnosed with cancer and how she tries to find humor and enjoyment in the short time she has left. Well, after the season finale, I broke down and couldn't stop crying for about an hour. My grandfather, diagnosed with brain cancer who passed away in February of 2009, is the inspiration for this story. I hope you all like it. It truly means a lot to me to see so many of you enjoying my writing the way you do.**

She _did_ give up on me, though. She left me here to deal with everything by myself, without my rock.

Most people don't understand my relationship with Sam. I didn't just lose my best friend, I lost my other half, my soul mate.

You've all seen the movie _Wedding Crashers_, right? Remember when John is talking to Claire and she asks him what "true love" is? He says, "True love is our soul's recognition of it's counterpoint in another." She comments that, "It's cheesy, but I like it."

Well, Sam's soul was my soul's counterpoint, placed together to create the perfect melodic piece. Sam was my one, true love. She's the only one that's ever been able to draw out these feelings in me, and without effort I might add. Sure, she's rough around the edges, and she's not exactly one you would proudly "bring home to your parents", but she's Sam. _I_ would proudly bring her home and show her off to my family and friends, _I_ loved her...no matter what. There were sides to her that no one but me saw, and I think that's what made me love her so much. She was a beautiful, multi-faceted gem with a dirty, broken exterior that just needed a little polish in order to shine. Sam was polished in front of me, but_ only _in front of me. I'm not even sure her mother or sister ever caught a glimpse of that side of her.

And now, here I sit. Alone. My broken melody droning on, and on, forever in search of it's harmonic counterpoint that ceased to play.

Maybe I was a little upset at Sam for leaving like she did. It _was_ selfish, after all, but I just couldn't wrap my head around why she, of all people, would do something like that. She had to have known how much it would hurt me, how much it would hurt Spencer, even Freddie, and her family. I keep flashing back to the night before I got the call. I haven't stopped crying since I heard her mother brokenly spurt out those burning words between muffled sobs over the phone. "Sam's gone."

_She had been drinking in celebration of passing midterms, or so I thought. She and her bottle of Crown Royal had snuck in through my window around midnight. I awoke to both of them snuggled up in bed beside me, the liquor thick on her breath. She had been drooling on the pillow and my hair, shuffling awake when I turned on my bedside lamp._

_"Sam, what're you doing here so late? I thought your mother wanted you home."_

_"Nnn...she gave me the night off, 'cause I made a C- on my science test."_

_She snorted and rolled over, dropping the bottle of alcohol to the floor to rub her eyes and pull the covers up over her face. A C- was praiseworthy, when it was _Sam's_ C-._

_"Besides, since when is it a crime to want to be close to you?"_

_I smiled at her half-conscious, muffled question. It was never a crime, never a problem at all. In fact, I wanted the same thing 99% of the time. I turned over toward her and wrapped my arm around her waist, kissing the back of her beautiful, blonde curls._

_"I love you, Sam."_

_"Nnn...I love you, too, Cupcake."_

_She reached her arm back and latched it around my neck, pulling me closer as her head turned my way. Our lips met halfway, leaving me with a sloppy, 80 proof kiss that made my lips burn. It didn't bother me, though. And with that, she turned over and fell back asleep. I nestled into her hair and the back of her neck and let sleep overtake me once again._

_When I woke up the next morning, she was gone, the spot in bed next to me already cold from the night air that took her place. I called her phone a few times, but she didn't answer. I assumed she was probably passed out on the couch at her house._

_But she wasn't._

_I received a call from her phone around 12:30 that afternoon. I excitedly answered the call, hoping that she would tell me that she was on her way over. Unfortunately, it wasn't her. Her mother was on the other end crying and sobbing uncontrollably._

_"C-Carly?"_

_My heart dropped instantly, wondering what could have happened and why Sam's mom was using Sam's phone to call me._

_"Ms. Puckett? What's wrong?"_

_"It's...It's Sam."_

_"What happened? Didn't she make it home last night?"_

_After about two minutes of frantic sobbing, she managed to spill out the only words that I never wanted to hear._

_"Carly, Sam's gone."_

_What did that mean? She's gone? Like...she ran away? She's incredibly drunk? She's in jail? She's..._

_I sat silent on the phone for several seconds. She was drunk last night. What if something happened to her on her way home?_

_"Wha...how..."_

_"They're taking her away now."_

_So it _was_ what I was fearing most. Sam was..._dead_. How did this happen? Sam was tough, she was strong. How could something like this happen to someone like her? She was seventeen years old! A senior in high school! People our age weren't supposed to die. Old people were supposed to die, people in car wrecks, and convicts on death row were supposed to die, not her. Not my Sam._

_"Don't let them take her until I get there."_

_I hung up the phone. This couldn't be real. She was just here 12 hours ago. Living, breathing, talking. I _kissed_ her just _12 hours ago_. Our last kiss. No, no, this was a mistake. It had to be. They got her mixed up with someone else or something like that. Maybe she's just asleep. Sam sleeps like a rock sometimes; maybe the highly trained medical professionals were just mistaken. I felt tears beginning to well up in my eyes. I was numb, inside and out. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. This was too surreal. Surely I had fallen back asleep and was having a terrible nightmare. I pinched myself in an attempt to wake sleeping-me up. Nothing happened. This sinking feeling didn't disappear, I didn't open my eyes to find her next to me in bed, I wasn't relieved to find that it had all been a dream._

_"Oh, Carly, you're here."_

_Ms. Puckett ran up to me and cradled me in her arms; she was shaking. I knew exactly what she was feeling at this very moment, as I saw Sam's limp body being lifted onto a stretcher behind us. I stared over Ms. Puckett's shoulder in speechless awe. The numbness remained, captivating my entire body and making me feel as lifeless as the body on the stretcher was. I ran over to Sam as quickly as my weak knees would take me and fell on the floor beside her, grabbing a lax hand and squeezing._

_"Wake up, Sam. This isn't funny. Everyone thinks you're dead."_

_Nothing. Silence._

_"Come on, wake up. They're probably gonna arrest you when they find out you're messing around like this."_

_Still nothing. It was then that I noticed her hand was cold. That was wrong. I always used to call her my "little heater". Nothing on her body was ever cold. I dropped her hand and stood up as best I could, looking deep beyond the closed eyelids in front of me. She looked so peaceful, like she was in a deep sleep, like she didn't have a worry in the world. Her sunkissed skin now a pale gray in comparison to what it once was and her lips were a dead, pale blue. She didn't even look like the Sam I once knew._

_"Sam..."_

_Her mother came up behind me and put her hand on my arm; her touch heated my skin. I could hear her crying behind me, and that's when I lost it. Tears burst from my eyes and swam down my face. I fell back to the floor in a muddled lump, hands on my face, in my hair, gripping the carpet like I'd fly away if I let go, like I'd really lose her if I left this spot. Spencer held me while I watched horrified as they wheeled Sam's stretcher out of the apartment. It was like they were ripping a piece from my heart and carrying it nonchalantly out the door; it hurt so bad I thought I was going to faint. There went the other half of me, there went all my happiness, my joy, my fun._

_"Why not me, instead? Why her?"_

_I managed to sob out a sentence that Spencer surely did _not_ want to hear. He began to tear up as he found an answer._

_"Things happen, kiddo. We'll get through this. I know it hurts now, but in time, it will get better."_

_I blamed myself for this. Through and through. What if I had stayed awake that night and not let her leave? I should have been there for her then, not just wrote it off as another drunken Sam moment and took advantage of the fact that I thought she'd be there when I woke up the next morning. I felt as though I had neglected her and that it was _my_ fault she was now lying lifeless in the back of some stupid ambulance. This was all because of me..._

**So...tell me what you thought, please? This story will grow dark, I think, as Carly will be experiencing and feeling what I felt when my grandfather passed, so I'm going to give it a Mature rating because of that. Hopefully chapter 3 will be up soon. Thanks for reading, guys!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter 3. Sorry it took so long, I've been distracted lately. Hope you guys enjoy and please review. 100 points to anyone that gets the **_**Tool **_**and Ellen Degeneres references in this chapter.**

I can't really explain to you exactly what happened. I guess it's because I never really knew myself. It just kind of hit me all at once. I thought that I had gotten over it but, like all demons, it returned to exact its revenge on my backside for choking them back into the darkest closet of my mind. Not to make light of what happened, since it's in no way a laughing matter, but sometimes laughing is the only way to soothe a broken soul.

Midterms were steadily creeping up on us and I was steadily working my way towards the Guinness Book of World Records for eating the most Fat Cakes in one sitting. Not that I was actually going for the record, I was just really hungry. Mom had been up my butt all week about studying and I knew I had to, otherwise I wouldn't pass this semester with the usual dull colors that my grades radiated; just bold, black Fs printed on thin, pale yellow paper. I know, I know; since when does Sam Puckett care about her grades? Since Carly Shay became more _persuasive_ in her attempts to _make_ me care. I was all too stoked about actually _passing_ the tests this year, mostly because I had a reason to. It seemed like I was finally getting my life on track. But, just ask anyone. Whenever things seem too good to be true, they usually are. Right? Well, my life hit a rock that completely derailed it; it crashed and burned to the ground.

It was Friday, the final day of midterms and the last day of school before Christmas break. Everyone was in a rush to get home and start their 9-day weekend. Students were packed in the halls like pickles, luckily, my classroom was right by the door, so I was able to slip out easily. I met Carly in the school parking lot by my vehicle, a 1989 Jeep Wrangler. Mom bought it for me last year as a birthday/you-just-got-your-license present. Of course I didn't deserve it, but it saved her from having to constantly be at my beck and call for rides. I was thankful for it. My mom and I had a pretty decent relationship, contrary to popular belief. We were friends of sorts, more than just mother and daughter, which opened up the door for talking about more than just school and "find a job".

"Hey, Cupcake."

I pulled her in for a kiss and threw my backpack in the back of the Jeep.

"How were finals?"

"Oh, pretty good. I studied my butt off, so I hope I did well."

I laughed, digging my keys out of the pocket of my jeans.

"You better have, otherwise all the time we spent apart studying will have been in vain."

I put a hand to my heart to show my feigned distress.

"_You_ better have passed, otherwise you're not getting your special Carly treatment."

I straightened my brow.

"_Hey_, I studied _reeeeaaaalllll_ hard for these stupid tests. If I didn't do good, then I'm having Freddie hack into the school's grading software again. Mama's not going to summer school this year."

She giggled at my heroism as she climbed in the passenger side. I cranked up the old piece of scrap metal and turned the radio on. Cuttlefish's "Longeralis" was on, Carly's favorite song of theirs.

"Speaking of, there's a concert in Bellevue next week. Wanna go?"

"Well..."

"And you can't say 'No.' Because I already got the tickets."

I smirked and tapped her on the leg.

"Then...yes!"

"Good. Now I gotta get home, my mom needs my help with somethin'."

After dropping Carly off I went straight home, the scent of her perfume still fresh in my nose. Ah, I was crazy about her. It's imperative that I tell you this, because, in order to understand our relationship, I have to reveal to you the soft, gentle side of myself. No one but Carly ever sees it. She invokes it easier than others can my wrath; it's puzzling, to say the least. But I don't even try to _pretend_ to understand these things. I call it fate, and as far as I'm concerned, it's not in my hands. Carly, she understands stuff like this; she says we're "soul mates". If that's what you call two people that have an unimaginable magnetism toward each other at first sight being brought together for an unseen reason, then yes, we were "soul mates". All I know is that I love her. I'm not gay, not the least bit interested in other girls, but she's so _different_ than everyone else. She's the one person that I feel compelled to be good for. She's the one positive thing in my life that trumps all the inanimate loves of my life: Fat Cakes, ham, video games, criminal activity, to name a few. So who _cares_ if she's the same gender as me? Love knows no bounds.

I pulled into my driveway with such talented indifference that I barely noticed my mom's vehicle absent from its adjacent parking space. She should have been home by now, but I didn't worry about it too much. Probably got caught in traffic on the interstate. As I unlocked the door and made my way through the house, I noticed a note on the kitchen table.

_"Sam, your concert tickets came in the mail today, they are on the desk in my room. Gone to the grocery store, be back soon._

_Love,_

_Mom"_

"Yesss!"

I galloped to her bedroom and threw open the door. The white Fed-Ex package was exactly where she said it would be: on my mom's computer desk. I yanked it from the desk, all too excited to rip open the thin cardboard and claim my prize, knocking off some papers that were beneath it. Normally I wouldn't worry about it, but I was in a particularly good mood today, so I bent down to pick them up. As I was straightening up the stray papers, I noticed something protruding from under the rug that was below the desk. I tugged at it, revealing a brown leather notebook. I raised an eyebrow at my findings. My mother had a diary? Curious, I opened it.

The next 10 minutes were spent skimming through page after page of boring "I like this guy but he doesn't like me" stuff and the occasional "my boss is an asshole", "school is hard", and "my parents suck". I went all the way through her high school life in a matter of minutes. The next 5 years weren't filled with much until some entries written in June of 1991 caught my eye. My mother talked about this guy she had been seeing and how he had been beating her among other unspeakable acts. She wrote about how she thought she loved him at first, but now hated his guts and was too afraid to leave in fear he might come after her. I stared horrified at the words scribbled on the paper. The entries stopped at June 28th and picked back up again on July 5th. This entry referred to a fourth of July party that my mother attended that apparently didn't end well. Her abuser had brought her with him and forced alcohol down her throat. She went on to confess that he "roofied" her, or as far as she could tell, and raped her that same night in an alley behind a bar, which is where she woke up the next morning. "Today," it stated, "I found out that I'm pregnant."

Now look, I'm no good at math, but this didn't take a genius to figure out. Melanie and I were born in April of 1992, almost _exactly_ 9 months after this diary entry. We were products of _rape_.

**Wow, so..yeah. A bit of a cliff hanger, huh? I know this story isn't exactly happy or anything, but that's not what I'm trying to do here. I'm trying to be realistic and bring out things that happen every day to people all over the world. Don't hate the story just because it makes you uncomfortable or because it talks about subjects that are generally taboo. I'm going for **_**real life**_** here…and I hope that you all can agree with me when I say I think I'm accomplishing it. Thanks for reading! Look for chapter 4 here pretty soon! PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this one took so long. It's...not exactly something that I'm proud of. It's rather...droll compared to most things I write. I didn't have such a hard time writing Sam's feelings as I did stretching them out over a whole chapter. Okay, so I think this chapter sucks. Anyway, let me know what **_**you**_** think. Reviews make me happy and feel good about myself. :P**

Everything that ever meant anything to me just kind of...disappeared. I found myself all alone in cold, dark, empty place. A place so quiet I could hear my own heart pounding dramatically against my rib cage. The sound was so deafening to me that I covered my ears, all the while knowing that blocking outside distractions would never silence the pain that was inside. I felt empty, helpless, like someone had just taken my life and run it through the shredder. The past 17 years of my life had all been a huge lie. My mother may have taken care of me, but there's much doubt in my mind as to if she actually loved me. And I say "me" specifically because it was obvious to me that she loved Melanie. She wouldn't have shoveled thousands upon thousands of dollars into private schools if she didn't. Or was it just that Melanie was smart, so boarding school was a valid option for getting her as far away from here as possible? Me, I'm not so smart, so my only options were the many military camps that I was shipped off to. Yeah, I spent countless summers away in dirty fortresses surrounded by twenty or so feet of barbed and razor wire, praying for the beginning of school so much that you'd think I actually _liked_ it. I hated school, with every fiber of my being, but nowhere near as much as I hated crawling around in mud wearing full body BDUs in ninety degree weather, eating 3 meals a day of disgusting mystery meat and surprise casserole, drinking nothing but self-bottled water from a tanker truck that had God-knows-what bacteria in it. So, since I wasn't a child genius like Melanie, I suffered for the better part of my life because my mother wanted as little contact with me as she could get.

It all made perfect sense now.

Ask me why my first thought wasn't to run to Carly, fall into her loving arms, and cry. It was because I knew that after I told her I was a rape-child, she would never look at me the same. She would never see my life as having as much meaning as it once did. No one would if they knew what a mistake I was. I was already a failure as it was, now I'm even less than that. I'm just one big accidental product of a very horrible crime.

What was I supposed to do now? My life was completely devoid of purpose. Incidentally, I'm not really even supposed to exist. I didn't feel the need to confront my mother, didn't have any urge to run around and tell people, only to have them give me sympathy. I didn't want to hear the typical "It'll be okay." or the overused "I'm here if you need to talk.". I didn't need to listen to people tell me that my mother really _does_ love me, despite what I may think, and my being alive proves just that. It doesn't. It just proves that she's either pro-life or was just too poor to afford an abortion at the time.

So why weren't we put up for adoption? Great question once again, and all I can come up with is that she had a change of heart somewhere in her third trimester and by the time she snapped back to reality, it was too late to give us away.

What my brain was doing was taking anything logical and rational, throwing it out the window, and replacing it with any horrible, perturbed, cracked version of reality that it could come up with. Maybe I was a masochist of sorts, but I couldn't find any silver lining in _this_ overwhelming storm cloud. I kept reaching for any positive thought, any positive emotion, but found none. Maybe subconsciously I wouldn't let myself, maybe I was my own worst enemy right now. All I knew is that I wanted to be alone to rot in my own self-degradation.

_My_ misery doesn't love company.

* * *

I caught the taste of blood in my mouth as I surfaced from my internal reverie. My lips were swollen and raw from my unconscious chewing that had apparently been going on for the past few hours. I checked my watch; it was almost 6:30.

"Shit."

There was a hard _knock knock knock_ on my door. I got up from my bed and unlocked and opened the door. Met by my angry mother with a big wooden spoon in her hand, I stepped back, my breath hitching in my throat.

"Samantha, what the hell have you been doing in here? I've been knocking on your freakin' door for hours now. Dinner's ready."

My eyes dropped to the floor in an attempt to evade the question, giving off an air of guilt that I knew she would promptly discern in spite of the pleasant aroma of Hamburger Helper seeping in from the kitchen.

"Okay, Mom, shit; I'm coming."

She yanked the spoon from her side and pointed it directly at me, no more than two inches from my face.

"Don't curse at me, young lady."

I slapped the wooden instrument from my face and pushed my way past her down the hall.

"Samantha Joy Puckett, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

I stopped dead in my tracks and spun around to face her. My eyes locked on hers, staring a hole through her head, before falling to the ground in rebuff. I sighed wearily.

"Nothin', Mom. Just had a bad day..."

I turned back around and continued towards the kitchen, leaving her baffled at the sudden shift in my mood.

* * *

Dinner seemed to last for hours as my mother tried to draw my issues out of me with her passive aggressive, maternal coaxing. I wasn't budging, though. After about two hours of useless pleading on her part, the doorbell rang. Apparently, she forgot that her new boyfriend was coming over tonight. I was commanded to clean the kitchen and put up the leftovers and after doing so, took it upon myself to "borrow" my mother's bottle of Crown Royal that she kept hidden under her bed. She may have succeeded in pulling me out of my head once, bringing wafts of delicious noodles and meat through my door, but I was going back inside and nothing was taking me from my silent premeditation this time.

Alcohol: check.

Door locked: check.

Lights off: check.

Television: check.

The television was all for sound distraction in case my mother came lurking around the door again. I figured she'd be less frantic if she heard the TV and think I just fell asleep with it on.

Basically, this was it. This was what was going to happen. I was going to drink myself stupid, pondering the whys, the what ifs, and the why nots until my brain just stopped thinking completely. I may have had my mother's genetic makeup when it came to drinking, but even _I_ knew what 750mL of whiskey would do to me. Sayonara, liver and brain cells.

So, I told decided that every time I found myself replaying the situation in my head, I would take two shots. Two because it takes a while to play out, so I figured I'd get drunk faster if I took more. Obviously.

I mean, what was I doing, really? What greatness had I accomplished with my life? I _might_ graduate high school, probably won't be able to afford college, won't ever get a decent job. It just goes downhill from here. And what about Carly, huh? She was _the_ most important thing in my life. Well, I expected I was just doing her one big favor. Who wants to be with someone that wasn't really intended to be here in the first place? Who wants, who _needs_ to be with someone who has no purpose, no meaning to their life? She loves Sam Puckett, she does. But she loves what she _thought_ Sam was, what _I_ thought Sam was, not what Sam really is. Carly deserved so much better, and I hoped that she'd realize that and go looking for better rather than get hung up on the miserable soul that was the _real_ Sam Puckett.

My mother didn't love me. She did everything in her power to get her two biggest mistakes as far away from her as possible. She couldn't even _try_ to be positive about it. Couldn't scrape together the money to put us out of our misery, so we wouldn't have to go through this some day. Better me than Melanie, though. She's far too delicate to handle a situation like this. She'd break into a million pieces and by the time it was over, everyone in the world would know what we were. It's better this way, anyway. This way, at least, the secret that was once meant to die with only my mother and that monster, that will now die with me as well, will never be revealed to anyone. Not Freddie, not Spencer, not Carly, not anyone.

My thoughts were barely making sense anymore. How many shots had I had already? Six? Eight? Ten, even?

I knew Carly, though, and I knew that she would do the exact opposite of what she _should_ do, which was forget about me. In my drunken, paradoxical, delusional state, I decided to write her a letter, letting her know not to worry about anything. I didn't want her to think that I didn't love her, but I couldn't explain what was really going on. I couldn't. As much as I hated myself right now, I had a reputation to uphold. It wasn't really a reputation with her, though, it was more that...she just needed to know how I really felt about her.

And it sucks, because in the back of my mind, I knew that this was the wrong decision. I knew that I'd end up regretting this the second I started the process. The second that it went too far, I'd want to go back in time and slap myself for even considering it. I _knew_ I'd be hurting everyone else by being so selfish. But somehow, it didn't matter to me anymore. I just wanted to get away from it all, to escape to some place where it wasn't true, where I was meant to be, where I would be loved and cared for the way I deserved.

Nothing was making sense to me right now; my thoughts were so mangled. How did I end up here? I took another shot, and another, and then another, and glanced at the clock. 11:43pm. The bottle of liquor was nearly empty and I found myself nearly wasted out of my mind. At least one thing was working for me right now. I was sick, not physically, but emotionally. Mentally. The past eight hours had been filled with nothing but blind searching for even an iota of justification for an end to this horrible nightmare that had been sprung upon me only because of my unintelligible curiosity. What I was thinking was wrong, it was insane, and I knew that..._now_. Now, after all had been said and done. After my mother had found me, after Carly had seen me so lifeless and searched for answers. Answers that no one could give her now because no one even knew what they were. Answers that now seemed irrelevant and unimportant in comparison to the pain I had caused her. And now I wished I could go back in time and stop myself from making such a horrible mistake. I threw away everything that I had so painstakingly stitched together to create my life.

* * *

_I stumbled back into the quiet, seemingly empty house around three o'clock in the morning. Seeing Carly for the last time was the most difficult thing that I'd ever had to do. It was so necessary, though, because the note never would have been enough. Scribbled ink on old notebook paper couldn't compare to actual human contact. Though, when I got there, I found that I had underestimated the level of comfort that flooded my body and made all my worries go away._

_I knew I was still highly intoxicated, but a hangover was beginning to set in so I decided to go rummaging through the medicine cabinet to find something, _anything_, that would make the headache go away. There were several semi-translucent, orange bottles in the cabinet with many names that I didn't recognize but assumed to be my mother's heart medication. Candesartan Cilexetil, Metoprolol Succinate, Clopidogrel Bisulfate, Amlodipine, Simvastatin, Furosemide, Escitalopram Oxalate, and last but certainly not least Zolpidem Tartrate. I _knew_ what that one was: Ambien. My mother had trouble sleeping, so the doctor prescribed it to her. She took one every night. I rooted around, looking for some Tylenol or Ibuprofen, but found none, so I grabbed the tall bottle of tiny, reddish pills. If I couldn't kill the pain, at least I could make myself fall asleep and forget about it. I poured the entire bottle of pills into my hand, there were nine of them altogether. Five milligrams each didn't seem like much, so I decided that I needed them all. After all, I had been drinking, a lot, so just taking a few probably wouldn't even work, seeing as the alcohol would just counteract the effects. They were so tiny, no more than half a centimeter each. And I wanted them to work fast, so I crushed them up with the bottom of the bottle, spreading a white powder all over the bathroom counter. My mission then took me to the kitchen to find a straw. I found a blue and white striped bend-y straw in the silverware drawer, which I then cut at an angle so that I'd be able to scoop up the powder easier. Carefully arranging it into as perfect a line as I could, I took a deep breath and exhaled down and away from the counter top, placing the straw up my left nostril as my lungs emptied. I placed a finger over my right nostril and another over the left, to close any gap between the lining of my nose and the straw. I imagined I looked almost elegant as I lowered my head to the counter and placed the straw at the apex of the line and began to inhale sharply, working my way down until all the white powder was gone. Jerking the straw out in a frantic attempt to stop the burning sensation, I stifled any attempt I might have to blow my nose, knowing too well that I would probably blow most of the medicine out and ruin my chances of passing out. Oh, and the taste in the back of my throat was indescribable. It almost made the whole thing not worth it. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed a Peppy Cola out of the fridge, and downed it as quickly as possible, trying to erase the dry, disgusting taste that was slivering down my throat. I started feeling lightheaded, finding myself almost stumbling as I made my way to the couch in the living room. I couldn't keep my eyes open, throwing myself down like a rag doll. Every inch of skin on my body was tingling and it was becoming increasingly harder for me to breathe with every second that went by, like someone had stuffed a pillow over my face or something. I became numb, my heart rate slowing down to almost nothing, feeling as if I was in another world, somewhere I wanted to be, somewhere I belonged. It was peaceful, and suddenly I could breathe again._

_My heart rate stabilized and my eyes shot open. I sat up and discovered that I wasn't in my house anymore. No, I was in some place completely different. There were bright lights overhead, the faint smell of clean, detached sanitizer filling every sensory nerve in my nose. The place smelled like a hospital. But how did I get in a hospital? I was just in my living room. I stood up from what looked to be a padded park bench and headed toward the only door in the room. As I touched the cold, metal of the door handle, I heard resounding screams and cries coming from every direction. They penetrated my ear drums like knives with frantic mentions of my own name, why did I do this, how could I have done this; the voice seemed to be convinced that it couldn't be real: whatever "this" was. I yelled in response as loud as I could, but it seemed to do no good. The voice couldn't hear me. I heard a different, more masculine, voice yell, "Clear!" and then a sharp pain spread from my chest over my entire body. It burned, like someone had just placed two irons on my breastplate and pressed down as hard as they could._

_"Clear!"_

_The pain came once again in the same spot, causing me to drop to my knees in front of the huge oak door that stood before me. I was scratching at my chest in every attempt to stifle the pain, but it just wouldn't go away. What the hell was happening to me?_

_"Clear!"_

_I cried out in agony for the voice to stop, knowing too well that they couldn't hear me, and even if they could, they wouldn't care._

_With one fistful of shirt against my chest, I grabbed the door handle again with my other hand and pulled the door open._

* * *

_The room went dark, the pain suddenly gone. I lay on a cold slab of concrete in the middle of a vast dark space. There was no smell this time, no mechanical whir of bright neon hospital lights above me, no questioning voice, nothing. I was alone once again. This was the place I craved earlier...this was my solace._


	5. Chapter 5

**This first part is Carly's POV, in case anyone is confused. It then switches to Sam's POV, then back to Carly's and so on and so forth. They're labeled.**

The coroner's report said that there was an abundance of alcohol and a prescription sleeping aid in her blood stream. No doubt, she got the pills from her mother. The BAC was .43; they said that anything over a .4 could cause a coma. The official cause of death was a drug overdose, though. They said that had she not taken the drugs, she might have actually survived with only a massive hangover the next morning. Why would they even say that? Why give some kind of false hope to someone that just lost the most important person in their life? As if, by letting me know what _could have_ happened, I could jump in my time machine and somehow prevent this tragedy. It just made me cry harder knowing that if I _had_ been there for her, I actually might have been able to save her life. She might actually be here right now, breathing and so _alive_. The complete opposite of what she was right now. Cold, dead, and in a morgue downstairs, surrounded by other lifeless bodies in a meat freezer. She deserved so much better than that.

Pushing through rushing bodies on the hospital floor, I found myself staring at the looming doors that lead to the chapel on the fourth floor. Why was I even here? It's not as if I had anything to say to Him. Didn't need to thank Him for saving the girl I loved, for bringing her back to me in one piece. I _did_ need to ask Him a favor, though, one I knew only _He_ could grant. I sighed and opened up one side of the double doors, walking in with such nonchalance that I felt almost disrespectful. I sat in the back row, away from the people silently praying at the altar, whispering as quietly as I could, hoping that He'd acknowledge my one request.

"I know we don't ever talk, but I need to ask You something."

There was only silence surrounding me while I paused, as if expecting a response of some sort.

"I need You to tell Sam something for me. I need You to tell her that I love her, and that I'm sorry."

I looked around at the small room, the pulpit at the front, the ten rows of pews that sat in front of it. They waited anxiously for the next divine lecture to be presented, given for the sole purpose of saving some wandering umbra and bringing them back to "the light".

"I need You to tell her how sorry I am for not being there for her. I don't want her to think I didn't care. But how could I have shown her if I didn't even know anything was wrong?"

Tears began to sting my eyes; I tried to blink them away, but they streamed down my face, drawn by gravity and overflowing emotion. This was so pointless. It's not like she'd ever hear anything that I was saying. I stood up abruptly, disturbing someone in the front. We made eye contact for a second, exchanging hopeless glances; we both knew we were there for inane reasons. I turned around and pushed my way through the double doors. That's all I was, and all I'd ever be from now on: hopeless.

**Sam's POV**

I wanted to grab her arms and shake her, tell her that what she was feeling wasn't hopelessness, it was just sadness. Sadness that would pass as quickly as it came. I wanted to tell her that she needed to stop second-guessing herself because there was no doubt in my mind concerning how she felt about me. It hurt so bad to see her like this, though. And to think that I was the one responsible for her pain just made it a whole lot worse. I wished there was some way I could communicate with her. Watching her walk down the now empty hall towards the elevators, I followed her, not permitting a gap between us. I knew in my heart that she couldn't see me, but there had to be some reason I was still here, right? There had to be _something_ that I was supposed to accomplish while wandering invisible and oblivious around this world. I boarded the elevator with her and stood as close as I could. I smelled the scent of the coconut shampoo still fresh in her hair, and imagined the soft skin of her neck against my lips. Oh, how I regretted what I'd done. Nothing was worth causing her this kind of distress. I watched as she tilted her head down and sobbed, hands covering her delicate face in hope that no one would see. But I saw. I witnessed everything, even her breakdown at my house beside my body; I stood there powerless as she held my cold hand and cried into the concrete air around her for help that no one could give her. I reached up and put my hand on her arm, hoping that it might comfort her. She gasped and turned around briskly, meeting my eyes with her own.

"Carly..."

I knew that she was looking straight through me like she was behind a one-way mirror, but I still felt like a connection was made, like she sensed my presence somehow. The elevator pinged, alerting us that we had reached the ground floor. She turned on her heels and ran for the front door in the lobby. I followed her, running as fast as I could, but couldn't make it through the sliding doors. There was a force beyond my control pulling me back inside the hospital. I slammed my hand hard against the glass door, causing a loud _slap_ that I knew was only audible to me.

"I love you, Cupcake..."

**Carly's POV**

I stopped to catch my breath once I reached the parking lot. I turned around to make sure no one was following me. There was no one, save an elderly couple exiting the hospital doors; the man was in a wheel chair. I used to hope that would be Sam and me one day, now I just hoped that it would _never_ be me, that I wouldn't be around long enough to grow old and need someone to wheel me around. Don't get me wrong, though, I could never consider...doing what she did. I just missed her so much. I didn't want to be apart from her any longer than I had to. But, back there in the elevator, I felt her. For a second I was _so sure_ I felt her there with me. It was as if she was right there behind me trying to comfort me. I felt so calm there, so serene. It wasn't rational, though. As much as I wanted to believe that it was her, I knew it wasn't rational. I glanced back at the doors, wanting to see her in the reflection, in the passing wind, in a shadow. Somewhere. Anywhere. I wanted to see my Sam looking back at me.

Spencer and I pulled up at the funeral home around 8:30am. It didn't start until nine, but we were included in the immediate family, so we arrived early like her mother. Melanie joined us, as well. She hopped on a plane the second her mother called to deliver the news and was here that same night.

There weren't many people at the funeral, way less than I expected. A lot of kids from school came, Freddie and his mother were there, and Spencer and me. Some of Sam's aunts, uncles, and cousins came, too, but I didn't know any of them. I sat quietly in the small room that was reserved for family members, wondering to myself how this was going to go. I would cry, that I was sure of, but I wasn't certain I could hold myself together through the service and while I passed by the casket. There had been no visitation, so I hadn't had time to prepare for what was coming. I hadn't seen her since they rolled her out of her house, into that cold ambulance, thinking that they could save her from a death she intentionally brought upon herself. They didn't know how headstrong she was, and that when she set out to do something, there was no stopping her. They didn't know Sam Puckett.

"How you holdin' up, kiddo?"

Spencer joined me on the small bench. I couldn't bring my eyes to budge from their fixed position on the baseboards.

"I'm okay."

"Okay" was the only word I could use to describe myself right now; the only neutral word, anyway. He didn't need to know how I was _really_ feeling.

"Look, if you're not up to it, we don't have to do this..."

"No..."

I looked up at him, all the affliction surfacing in my brown eyes.

"I want to."

**Sam's POV**

I stood at the altar of the small funeral home, propped up against the casket with my body in it. Peering over the edge, I realized that the empty form laying there looked nothing like me. It actually looked more like Melanie, in my opinion. I never wore makeup, of which there was an abundance on my face, and I certainly didn't wear dresses. This was the last time anyone would see me, and I had to look like a preppy, girly girl. I could only imagine what Melanie would think when she looked at me and saw a mirror image of herself.

Carly was sitting in the family room by herself. There were others around her, but I knew she was feeling alone; I could tell by the look in her eyes. She wasn't crying yet, but the tears were coming. I watched as Spencer sat beside her and put his arm around her. She wouldn't look at him at first, only responded blankly to his question. She was "okay", she said, but I knew that "okay" wasn't at all what she really was. Spencer told her that she didn't have to be here if she wasn't up for it, and once again, she told him blankly that she wanted to. There were two parts to Carly Shay right now; one was telling her to run far, far away to prevent anymore pain and suffering, the other was telling her that she needed to be here for me, for us, because if she wasn't, then I might think she didn't love me. It was ridiculous, really. Whether she stayed or left, it wouldn't change her feelings for me.

I looked around the main room of the funeral home, finding that it was bare compared to how I always imagined funerals to be. The pews in the front were full of mainly my uncles and some of the guys from school. Freddie was on the very front bench, staring deeply into his small, fidgety hands. I watched as Spencer sat beside him, showing the same brotherly love and concern to Freddie as he had to Carly. I looked to my left to see the separate family seating. Carly, Melanie, and my mother were in the front row, surrounded by empty seats. It was sad, I thought to myself, that they were the only family I had. Really, it was just Spencer and Carly that were my family. I never saw Melanie and well, you know how my mom obviously felt about me.

They began the service, starting with some Bible verses and a hymn. It was all bullshit to me; no doubt some half-hearted, frantic attempt by my mother to save my soul "from the fires of damnation". Cue the waterworks. I just couldn't take it, so I walked outside, away from the tears and the constant reminders from God's anointed pastor that I was "in a better place now, free from pain". I wasn't free from pain, and I certainly wasn't in a better place. My residual self-image was still here on earth, just in an entirely different plane, no longer able to fully interact with the living. I was feeling even more pain now than before I died, because I was basically being forced to watch everyone suffer at the hands of my death.

**Carly's POV**

"My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, 'My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.' Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall! My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning: great is your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him.' The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. But though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not willingly afflict or grieve the children of men."

We sat in silence as the man at the pulpit recited Bible verses to us.

"Now turn with me to the fourteenth chapter of John."

He flipped through the pages in his holy book until he found the place he was looking for. I sat un moving as everyone else rooted through their Bibles, searching for answers, searching for closure.

"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you will also live. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid."

The words didn't mean a lot to me, I guess because I wasn't paying much attention, but they just seemed so...old. Like they were in a completely different language that I didn't speak a word of. I couldn't interpret any sentences that came from the man's mouth.

"The death of a loved one can shake us to our very foundations. When the person is so young and so full of potential and hope...the feelings of grief and loss can be even more overwhelming. At times such as this we turn to our friends and family for support, for a shoulder to cry on and for someone to walk that road of pain and anguish with us. At times such as this we turn to our faith, to the scriptures and to the church community for the assurance that we are not alone, that someone greater than us watches over us and that our loved one has found the peace in death that must have so eluded him in the last hours of his life."

I didn't turn to faith, or to the church community. I receded back into myself, to grieve alone.

"The words of the third Lamentation could well be our own on this day. The writer knew well the feeling of anguish. Whatever had happened was a devastating event. Not only was this author shaken, but so much so that happiness was all but forgotten. The Bible is a beautiful and powerful book, not only for the message of faith and trust in God that it presents to us but also for the unadorned honesty with which it presents human emotions. There are no punches pulled here; the author tells it like it is. The Bible acknowledges these feelings, the people of faith from long ago did indeed feel free to present these feelings to God without fear because they knew, even in the midst of their pain and grief that their God's love was steadfast and that God's promises were sure. When an individual forgot it or when an individual ceased to believe it for a time, the faith of the community, of family and friends walked with them until those hurting and grieving ones could come back to that relationship of trust and faith and community. The words of the 23rd Psalm are so very familiar to all of us here. They have been uttered so many times in situations of trouble and grief and sadness. They speak to the reality of a God who cares for each one of us like a shepherd cares for sheep. They speak to the reality of a God who, like a shepherd, goes out of the way to save a little one from danger. These verses speak to the reality of a God who cares even when the people have gone in the other direction. This is a love that never ends. This is a love that surrounded Samantha in life, a love that surrounds her in death and in the new life to which she has been raised and surrounds us and carried us in our grief."

I hated how they used her full name. Samantha. She hated to be called that, which is why everyone just called her Sam. They painted this picture of her being so angelic and perfect, as if she was so religious that she made everyone else look like the Devil's advocates. But that's not how it was at all. She wasn't very religious. I mean, sure, she believed in God and prayed every now and then, but she wasn't a devout Christian by any means. She did bad things all the time, drank, smoked, cursed, she had stolen a lot of things, and stuff like that. We weren't religious, we just weren't.

"The gospel lesson speaks to a time when Jesus was preparing to journey to Jerusalem. He knew that the journey to Jerusalem would mean that he had to face suffering and death. Beginning to realize this, the disciples were afraid of being left alone, they were afraid that they would never see Jesus again. Jesus assures them that they will see each other again. Jesus assures them that they will come to know the love of a God who has room for everyone, a God whose love knows no limits. God's love is like a gigantic Bed and Breakfast, where there will never ever be a 'no vacancy' sign. This love gave Jesus the strength to walk the way to the cross. This love strengthened the disciples in the terrible aftermath of his death, and this love can give us the strength and the hope and the courage that we need to go on from this terrible week and into the future. Samantha's life and death has changed you and you will never be the same again, but God will help you find new ways of carrying on, God will give you the strength to go on without her. God's power can deliver you to a new day."

But what if I didn't want His help, what if I didn't want to "carry on" right now? What if I wasn't ready?

"Remember her as she was. Remember the good times, her love and her care for you. Also, in your grief please remember the living: care for one another, for you have all been through a terrible tragedy. Do not forget to give thanks to God, for his life was a precious gift to all of you. Lean on God, for God is strong and is able to carry you through this to the light and peace of a new day."

I was still stuck in Day 1, wasn't ready to progress and make my way through the seven steps of the grieving process. I wasn't ready to go on without her.

**Bible verse ideas and sermon property of and thanks to Rev. Beth Johnston. .net/~**

**I'm not devout enough to come up with one on my own, so thanks, Rev. Beth Johnston.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I went back to Rascal Flatts' "Why" for this last chapter. I felt it was appropriate, because in chapters 3-5, I strayed away from it and replaced it with Aaron Zigman and Thomas Newman (both great composers, by the way). So...here it is, the last installment of "Why". Hope you all enjoyed it!**

**Sam's POV**

The air was chilly as everyone gathered around my lifeless body for their final goodbyes in our childhood playground. I stood in the back, peering over shoulders and between arms. I felt as if I was in the way, intruding so to speak, by being here; but it's not like I could just get up and leave. I realized some time ago that I was bound to my body. I couldn't venture too far away, or this invisible force would pull me back toward it. It was kinda creepy, really, but what did I expect? I was dead.

I looked around at the many gravestones layed out on the land. They stood in uniform rows, like soldiers in the military, diligently awaiting a passerby to show them attention, to acknowledge them. I knew after a few months, mine would be the same. It wouldn't be, "I'm going to see Sam." anymore, it would be, "I'm going to Sam's grave." I'd be nothing more than a forgotten tombstone with my name written on it. Eventually, people would stop coming to visit, they would stop bringing flowers, stop thinking about me altogether. But that's what I wanted, right? I wanted everyone to forget about me and focus on more important things, more important people. That's what was best. But I didn't expect the afterlife to be like this; I didn't expect to be so...alone.

I looked up to see Carly kneeling down at my casket. She was studying it hard, like there was a secret message written on it or something. I ran over to stand behind her. How could I have ever been so selfish? How could I have hurt her like this? I brushed the hair from her shoulder and knelt down beside her and put my arms around her. As much as she may have felt like there was an underlying problem with me, there wasn't. It wasn't something that months of therapy could have fixed for me; it was something that would have loomed over my head for the rest of my life, and I just didn't feel like I could deal with it. She began to cry, and I held her tighter.

Life becomes without meaning when the negative outweighs the positive.

"Why?"

She whispered to the dirt and grass beneath her feet. I couldn't give her an answer. No one could. And even if I had really been there, I couldn't have told her. It's not that I didn't see all of the positive aspects of my life, I did, but the horrible news I discovered that Friday afternoon sent me into a downward spiral. I was impulsive, I was selfish, and I went and made the biggest mistake ever.

_"You should know that I didn't give up on you. You were worth it, you always were. Always too good for me, actually. I knew you deserved so much better, but you picked me. You picked such a broken, troubled soul, and you managed to pick me up and piece me back together. I love you so much, Carly, and I always will. I just couldn't tell you what was wrong; I couldn't put that burden on you, couldn't let you know how much of a failure I was. I was afraid you might run."_

We stood up and I took a step back, noticing Spencer coming out of the corner of my eye.

_"So I ran first..."_

He put his hand on her shoulder and she spun around, jerked from her reverie. Spencer was crying, something I'd never seen him do before, and I knew in his mind he was comparing my death to Carly's. I knew he felt like he had lost a little sister.

"Come on, kiddo. Let's go home."

He pulled her into a tight hug and I saw her fall into him, helpless and limp with grief. She cried into his chest, grabbing at anything she could get her hands on in an attempt to try and ground herself. I looked over at my casket and down at the ground before hearing Carly choke out a string of questions.

"Why? Why, Spencer? Why did this happen?"

The burning question that everyone was asking.

"I don't know."

And the only answer anyone could give. He stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders.

_"I was scared, okay? I-I didn't know what else to do! I felt like such a failure, such a reject-"_

He unknowingly cut me off by finishing his sentence.

"But everything will be okay. I'm here for you if you need me. You know that."

She looked up at him, searching for closure in his big, sad eyes.

_"I'm afraid of rejection. Realizing that my mother never really loved me, just put up with me, was horrible! You've got to understand that! I was afraid that if I told anyone, they would reject me the same way she did. I was insecure, paranoid, impetuous! I never knew I would end up hurting you like this."_

I watched as they turned and walked back to the line of cars that had brought them all here. Hastily, I chased after them.

_"Carly! Stop! Carly!"_

My screaming did no good, they kept their pace. I managed to grab the sleeve of Carly's shirt before the invisible force grabbed me and pulled me back toward my final resting place. She stopped and turned around. We made eye contact, I _knew_ she felt me; she knew I was there.

_"Carly, I love you! I'm so sorry..."_

Carly stared into the empty air in front of her, so empty, so broken, and reached out her hand, as if she was expecting me to grab it. I tried, but I couldn't move any further in her direction.

"I love you, too, Sam."

Her face twisted in anguish and the tears started flowing again.

"Please wait for me..."

Not thinking, I responded.

_"I will, Cupcake, I will."_

She dropped her hand and ran to catch up to Spencer who was almost back at the hearse. But wait, what did that mean? Wait for me until I'm old and gray and I'll join you because it was my time, or wait for me because I'll be joining you soon because I decided it was my time? I could only hope it was the former. She didn't need to throw her life away just because I did. I bolted for the hearse, fighting the pull to the best of my ability.

_"Carly! Carly, don't do anything stupid!"_

Exhausted, I gave up and fell to my knees. Carly turned her head to look in my direction and smiled before getting in the car.

And at that point, I realized that abandoning my seemingly hopeless life was not _at all_ worth it. I had ruined my Carly's life. I had caused her so much pain that she was now questioning the solidarity of her own life.

Suicide wasn't the answer. It never was and never will be for anyone. What you think is an escape is actually just a portal to a world where everyone is full of grief and mourn, and you're forced to watch it unfold before your very eyes. I never should have been so selfish, so ornery, in thinking that no one would miss me. Sure, maybe I thought that they _shouldn't_, but I didn't consider the fact that their thoughts didn't coincide with mind; we didn't share feelings or brain waves.

_"Please don't run..."_

**So...there it is. Not to get any hopes up or anything, but I left the ending open for a possible sequel. I will probably return to this fic one day and a sequel will probably happen, but I'm sure it will take a while. Thank you to everyone that read this story and reviewed, and even to those who didn't review. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I hope it made you all cry. ;) But seriously, I hope this fic helped someone out there by making them realize that nothing is worth taking your own life over. I've been there, and if I had given into my temptations, I wouldn't be here today, happy and able to help others. I love you guys.**


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